


Shock

by KivaEmber



Series: Wine Cellar [23]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Healthy Communication, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Male!WoL - Freeform, Mental Health Issues, Miqo'te!WoL - Freeform, Post-Stormblood, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-19 13:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14237970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivaEmber/pseuds/KivaEmber
Summary: “Did you manage to cover up a camp-wide brawl?” Aymeric asked, unsure whether to be furious or impressed, “The amount of people injured-”“Ser Aza was,” Drillemont began, and stopped. He sighed, “It was mostly unintentional, and no one was seriously hurt. I felt there was no need for it to go beyond the walls of Whitebrim.”Or;Aymeric finds out about what happened during the Lvl 50 Drk Quest.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW: there's a very brief implication of suicide halfway through

“Sir, please read this.”

Aymeric glanced up when Lucia held out what appeared to be an old mission report. Automatically, he scanned the summary; it seemed fine, albeit almost a year old. A mission in Whitebrim from a party of knights on the hunt for some Dark Arts practitioner, that culminated in that of a simple misunderstanding, though… hm…

“Parts of it are redacted,” Aymeric said in mild surprise, reaching out to take the report from Lucia’s hand. This wasn’t uncommon in such old reports – during the Theocracy there had been a lot of corruption and personal grudges and vendettas carried out under the guise of official missions, and while Aymeric tried to stamp it out as much as he could, he had ultimately been restricted by his role and station. Quite a few were from the Heavensward, and almost all of them tended to involve outspoken dissidents being imprisoned as ‘heretics’.  

“This has been signed off by Ser Drillemont,” Lucia said as Aymeric began to read carefully, “And had been in the same file as this.”

She held out another report – this one dated a week after the first; a Chirugeon’s report. Whenever injuries occurred during the line of duty, Chirugeons were able to reimburse their medical supplies by detailing what was used and why. This report also had parts of it redacted and signed off by Drillemont.

“Hmm…” Aymeric glanced between the report in his hand and the one in Lucia’s, noticing a similarity, “The name of this Dark Arts practitioner is blacked out.”

“Yes, and also… Aza is mentioned in it.”

Yes, Aymeric had noticed that too. An off-hand, casual remark of his presence to the mission. This didn’t stick out as strange, though. During the timeline of this report, Aza had been rolling through any and all dirty work he could get his hands on whilst waiting in Ishgard. Truth be told, Aza normally made missions run _smoother_ , with a low casualty count and… wait.

“Roughly twenty people were injured?” he said in some surprise, reading the medical report now, “The knights who submitted the mission report found dead a week later in a separate incident near Whitebrim, after continuing their mission with Aza’s assistance…”

Something niggled as… Wrong.

“Sir?” Lucia said quietly, “Should I investigate this?”

Aymeric leaned back in his seat with a frown. It was such an old report – and, really, it wasn’t all that suspect compared to others he and Lucia had unearthed, but this was the first with Aza’s name attached to it. The Dark Arts practitioner name was completely removed, large chunks of the report were blanked out, making it seem disjointed and vague, explaining nothing except concluding that it was all a misunderstanding… only for the knights to turn up dead a mere week later by, what the Chirugeon detailed as; ‘complete dismemberment – potential Behemoth attack’.

And Drillemont signed it off, a man who was incorruptible as a man could be in Ishgard. Overzealous, perhaps, but an honourable and good man. He wouldn’t have covered up anything without good reason.

“Discreetly,” Aymeric decided after a weighty pause, “It’s rather old and doesn’t seem to be all that relevant right now.”

“Yes, sir. Should I directly question Ser Drillemont?”

“No… I’ll raise the question at a later date.”

“Yes, sir.”

Aymeric tapped his finger against the desk as Lucia saluted and left his office, leaving both reports with him. He eyed them, feeling an odd sense of apprehension the longer he stared at them. He felt whatever he’d learn, he wouldn’t like. The paragraph at the very bottom detailing Aza’s presence was written in Drillemont’s hand, as if an afterthought, and void of the usual praise he would’ve bestowed on Aza’s contributions. It was a matter of fact ‘he was present and assisted’. Assisted with what? Did he help clear up the misunderstanding? Apprehend the suspect? The vagueness of it all was deeply uncharacteristic of Drillemont.

But, as he said, it was such an old report, and not all that relevant…

…

But he _was_ curious.

 

* * *

  


It was a curiosity that went unsatisfied up until a week later.

Drillemont rarely, if ever, returned to Ishgard, so determined was he in his duties to Whitebrim and the late Ser Gorgagne. This made it a little difficult to catch the man at times, as Aymeric couldn’t simply travel to Whitebrim outside of official business without raising several questions. So, it was pure luck when he managed to catch the man just before he left the Congregation of the Knights Most Heavenly – almost as if Halone Herself had arranged their serendipitous meeting.

“Ser Drillemont,” Aymeric greeted, “A word, if I may?”

Drillemont frowned but didn’t seem overly troubled, “You may, Lord Commander, though I can’t tarry long.”

In the main hall of the congregation, Aymeric could see some of the loitering knights looking over in open curiosity – terrible gossips and eavesdroppers, the lot of them – so he gestured for Drillemont to follow, heading for his office, “It will be quick, I assure you. I just need some… clarification on an incident a year ago.”

It was brief, but some flicker of apprehension crossed Drillemont’s face – but it was quickly gone, and he met Aymeric’s mild stare without a shred of nervousness, “A year is a long time, Ser Aymeric.”

“Hmm, it is,” he said agreeably. He nodded to the knight guarding the entrance to his office and the both of them entered it. He waited until the door was closed, moving over to his desk to pick up the report in question as Drillemont settled in a tense, parade’s rest near the door. “Here it is. I believe it was a standard hunting mission for a Dark Arts practitioner, signed off by yourself.”

Drillemont may as well have been carved from stone, from how still he became, but his expression remained impressively blank. Aymeric merely watched him for a long moment, letting the silence stretch between them before slowly holding the report out.

“Could you confirm that this is written by your hand?”

The both of them knew this was a farce, but Drillemont said nothing as he moved forwards and decisively took the report. He read it quickly, grim recognition twisting his features for a moment before he lifted his gaze to Aymeric, holding the report so tight it crinkled where he grasped it.

“This was… written by my hand,” he admitted, his voice painfully neutral. Aymeric could see Drillemont was trying to gauge how much he knew of the incident in question, what it was he specifically questioned – it could hardly be the redacted nature of the report, because those were a gil a dozen and there were plenty of other, guiltier lords he could pull up for abusing it. Aymeric was half-tempted to let him stew, to gently coax the answer out by roundabout questioning – interrogation was one of the few skills he rarely got to dust off nowadays, but…

“Then could you clarify what Aza’s role was there?” he asked bluntly and, there, Drillemont twitched, slightly, as if holding back an aborted movement.

“…it is as it says in the report,” Drillemont said carefully, “He assisted the knights in clearing up the misunderstanding.”

“In what way?”

Drillemont did not fidget, or squirm, but he did give off the air like he’d want to. Instead he met Aymeric’s stare dead on, expression stony, his shoulders squared and said, “I gave my word that I would not say.”

Aymeric tilted his head a fraction. In what limited context he had of the situation, he suspected that it may be… “To Aza?”

Drillemont’s silence was good as a ‘yes’.

“Hmm…” Aza had Drillemont’s respect, and if something occurred where he made him swear a vow of silence on the issue, he would have done it in a heartbeat. Aymeric’s gut feeling was right, he really wasn’t going to like the truth of this matter at all. For what reason would Aza try to cover something up? He was rather open and upfront about his adventures and _mis_ adventures, so this secrecy was _deeply_ troubling.

But again, it happened a year ago, and Drillemont wouldn’t agree to hide anything he deemed overly heretical or dangerous. What was the saying? Let sleeping wolves lie? Did Aymeric really have the right to dig into something like this?

Well… yes, technically, part of his job in the republic was to chase down discrepancies and past abuses within the Temple Knights, _but_ , if Aza hid it… surely there must be a reason?

“Who was the Dark Arts practitioner in this report?” Aymeric finally asked, an awful, terrible suspicion beginning to blossom in him, “I’ve noticed you have seen fit to redact their name.”

Drillemont closed his eyes, “I swore I wouldn’t say.”

“Aza,” Aymeric said flatly.

The silence that followed was damning.

Already, Aymeric could conclude what had happened. At the time of this report Aza was just a ward of the Fortemps and not the slayer of Nidhogg, hero of Ishgard, meaning he would have been easy prey to a band of overzealous knights looking to drag in a ‘heretic’. Procedure for arresting a suspect was to disarm them and take them into custody, but so soon after Ul’dah, Aza may have reacted violently to the demands, which would explain the casualties… except _twenty_ people? The squad only numbered six, so that would’ve meant the local knights stationed in Whitebrim would have gotten involved – though in aid of who, Aymeric couldn’t begin to assume, and…

“Did you manage to cover up a camp-wide brawl?” Aymeric asked, unsure whether to be furious or impressed, “The amount of people injured-”

“Ser Aza was,” Drillemont began, and stopped. He sighed, “It was mostly unintentional, and no one was seriously hurt. I felt there was no need for it to go beyond the walls of Whitebrim.”

Aymeric leaned back on his heels, “And Aza made you swear to secrecy?”

“No, I offered it myself,” Drillemont grimaced to himself, glancing away at the far wall before heaving a sigh, “I’m loathed to break it, for I’m a man of my word but… Ser Aymeric, he isn’t well. Mentally.”

Aymeric felt his pulse pick up, and an uncomfortable feeling settled like a stone in his stomach, “What…” he paused at his strained voice, clearing his throat before continuing; “What do you mean?”

Drillemont did not make eye contact with him, “You must know what I mean. He hides it well, but he is… do you know when a knight’s mind turns on him? Where it refuses to allow him rest and peace, where he sees enemies in all shadows and his memories intrude on his waking moments?”

Aymeric did know what that was. Known commonly as ‘Dragon-Shock’, it was a phenomenon that affected knights who had endured traumatic experiences – normally from witnessing their patrol being wiped out from a dragon attack, or from going on too many raids on heretic outposts. Hypervigilance, night terrors, dissociation, unpredictable mood swings, trapped in memories during their waking moments… it was a sickness regarded with fear and disdain by the public, and those who succumbed to it were either ostracised for their ‘cowardice’ or they simply… died. There was a special, damned room for _those_ redacted reports, since many a lord didn’t want to admit that their sons and daughters escaped their duties by more permanent, morbid means. 

“Aza doesn’t have… Dragon-Shock,” Aymeric eventually managed to say, though his voice wasn’t as confident as he liked, “He manages his trauma well enough.”

Drillemont just looked at him, utterly expressionless, “Are you sure that you’re not simply blinded by your own ideal of him, Ser Aymeric?”

Aymeric stiffened at the accusation, sharp embers of anger beginning to flare behind his breastbone, but he managed to bite back the knee-jerk protest. It was a fair judgement to make, but Aymeric was not _blind_ to Aza’s… difficulties. He had witnessed more than enough for him to _know_ that Aza was not the perfect, unflappable Warrior of Light the propaganda made him out to be – but neither was he suffering from _Dragon-Shock_. He was… he was stressed and weary and made poor coping decisions, that was all. Though, yes, there _were_ times where his thoughts became a little… strange and worrying but, Aymeric always managed to help distract him and find his footing again. Aza managed. They both managed.

But the doubt had already started to creep in, drawing comparisons between his partner and the young soldiers who gained the ‘thousand-malm stare’, who woke up half the barracks with their screaming at night and their strange, repetitive rituals they did to soothe their shaking hands – and finding a lot of unnerving similarities. The only difference was that Aza’s trauma and fear made him more _ferocious_ in battle, though no less reckless or alarmingly indifferent to his own survival.

Did he really… had Aymeric really been ignoring something so _blatant_?

“I will leave you with your thoughts, Lord Commander,” Drillemont said, his voice quiet and almost pitying as he handed the report back. Aymeric took it without thinking, staring down at the cramped handwriting as his thoughts swirled in a horrified daze, “Give my regards to the Warrior of Light.”

With that, Drillemont gave him a formal bow and strode out. Aymeric watched him go, clutching the report tight enough that the parchment crumpled in his grip.

 

* * *

  


Aza groaned as he slowly ambled up the stairs leading to the Saint Valeroyant Forum, feeling thoroughly exhausted and drained. That was the last time he let Bluebird coax him into a Hunting Relay with the rest of Clan Centurio because, holy shit, those people were _inhuman_. Aza thought he had endless stamina, but the amount of running and teleporting and clambering over strange places to fight powerful, weird monsters… it had been _fun_ but Thal’s Balls, he could sleep for a week.

“Oh, thank Halone…” he whimpered when he finally made it up the stairs, every fibre in his legs screeching in burning agony. All that running and sprinting up and down mountains made it… hurt… so much… oh, sitting down was gonna be _pain_.

Just think about Aymeric, he thought aggressively. Aymeric, who he hadn’t seen in almost _two weeks_ , because of this insane Hunting Relay challenge. Aymeric, who always brightened up whenever Aza slinked back after a long absence, who always gave him those really nice back massages when he said he was sore and…

Aza gave himself a little shake, realising he was daydreaming like a complete idiot out in the open. Huffing in exertion, he forced his aching, stiff legs to carry him across the forum, towards the Congregation of the Knights Most Heavenly.

So determined was he in his task he didn’t noticed Drillemont until the man was practically on top of him.

“Ser Aza,” he greeted – and scared Aza half-way out of his skin in the process, “Visiting the Lord Commander, are you?”

“Oh, Dri- Ser Drillemont,” Aza hurriedly corrected, blinking a little rapidly at the tall Elezen, “You’re actually in Ishgard?”

“I had duties here,” Drillemont told him, utterly blank-faced.

“… I thought your duties were all in Whitebrim?”

Drillemont was too noble to roll his eyes, but Aza got the feeling he wanted to desperately, “I needed to settle some business… no matter. Good day, Ser Aza.”

“Bye,” Aza returned, a little mystified as Drillemont continued on his merry way – probably to the gates, since Whitebrim wasn’t that far from Ishgard itself. But, huh, he had no idea he actually visited the main city.

Oh well, whatever.

Putting that curious encounter out of mind, Aza stiffly limped his way into the Congregation. The few knights loitering in the main hall greeted him enthusiastically, exchanging knowing smiles when Aza made a beeline for Aymeric’s office. Aza would’ve thought the novelty of him visiting his partner at work would’ve worn off by now, but, no the knights still sniggered or catcalled whenever they spotted him. Ishgardians. They could be so _weird_.

The knight guarding the door to Aymeric’s office let him inside with a friendly nod, and Aza huffed out some kind of thanks as he practically staggered in. He paused by the door, though, his ear flicking when he heard it click shut behind him, because…

“Uh, Aymeric?” Aza asked, staring at his partner who was, for some unknown reason, standing in the middle of his office staring blankly at a report in his hands – and hadn’t even stirred when Aza walked in. It was…unsettling, “Handsome?”

Aymeric jolted, clearly snapping out of his whatever daze he was in and hurriedly looked up. For the briefest moment, he looked – Aza wasn’t sure what, but the emotion as quickly snuffed and his partner managed to dreg up a tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Oh, Aza… I didn’t hear you come in.”

“… are you okay?” Aza asked carefully, subtly giving him a once over. He _looked_ fine…

“Yes, I’m fine,” Aymeric folded up the report in his hands in two quick, smooth movements and carelessly tossed it behind him, where it landed just on the edge of his desk, “I’m just tired… but,” his tired smile looked a little more genuine as he focused on him, “I feel better with you here. It’s been a while.”

Aza smiled back, deciding to put Aymeric’s weird behaviour on the backburner for now. He might actually just be tired – Aymeric tended to overwork when left on his lonesome, “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t expect my trip to take so long. Did you miss me?”

“Immensely,” Aymeric murmured, shifting his weight back enough so he sat on the very edge of his desk. He held out his arms, “Come here?”

Intrigued, Aza obediently walked over to him. He laughed quietly when Aymeric promptly swept him up into a tight hug, happily returning it and giving his partner a firm squeeze around the waist. Right, he kept forgetting how affectionate Aymeric got between long absences too… not that was a bad thing. Aza didn’t realise he needed the hug until he had it.

“I missed you too,” Aza purred against his partner’s chest, idly nuzzling him. A tension that wasn’t wholly to blame on physical exhaustion seemingly melted out of him, and he sighed contentedly. Aymeric here, safe… this was all he needed to recharge his energy levels. He really didn’t deserve this man.

Aymeric gave him a bit of a squeeze, the way he did when he was upset about something but didn’t want to talk about it – again, the worry niggled at Aza, but he knew better than to press him about it. He and Aymeric were annoyingly similar in that they tended to hold issues close until they were comfortable to discuss them – only difference was Aymeric grew comfortable faster than Aza did. He just needed to wait him out a little…

“Are you staying tonight?” Aymeric asked him quietly.

“Yeah,” Aza leaned back a little, just enough to push himself right up onto his toes. Aymeric met him half way – a brief kiss, more of a chaste peck, really, and Aza adjust his grip, slipping his arms loosely around his partner’s shoulders, easily holding his weight on his toes, “I can stay for a while. Do you want me to?”

“Mm,” Aymeric’s expression was a little unreadable, his hand lightly stroking a path along the curve of Aza’s lower back, “Yes. A little selfish of me, I know…”

“Hush,” Aza chided, “It’s not selfish- or, well, it _is_ , but not the kind you apologise for.”

That brought a bit of a smile to his partner’s face, “I can think of a few priests who would disagree with you there.”

Aza let out a rather unflattering snort, “I think me and those priests would disagree on _a lot_ more on just that, handsome.”

Aymeric laughed quietly, leaning in enough to press their foreheads together. Aza closed his eyes, quietly enjoying the closeness – though, he wondered. There was affectionate, and then there was this… it was almost as if Aymeric was trying to draw comfort on something. The curiosity itched at him, badly, but…

“I need to get back to work,” Aymeric murmured, pulling away with open reluctance. Aza opened his eyes to see his partner giving him that unreadable look again, like he was trying to puzzle something out. “I’ll try to finish early for you.”

“Hmm, don’t push yourself too much,” Aza said, easing out of the embrace. He studied his partner closely, seeing the tired, strained lines in his expression, and the dark circles under his eyes… yeah, he had definitely been overworking. “In fact, maybe you should just claim illness and come home now.”

Aymeric smiled wryly, “I don’t have that luxury.”

Well, maybe he will if Aza pounced on Lucia on his way out. He kept that thought to himself, however, eyeing his partner for a moment. Whatever was eating him, he’ll get it out of him tonight. Maybe he just needed a long nap and some time to unwind… or maybe he got lonely, or he just had a shit week. Whatever it was, Aza was determined to put it right.

“Hmm, alright. Well, I’ll see you at home, okay?”

Aymeric nodded, his gaze drifting to his desk – in particular, the folded-up report that teetered dangerously on the edge. “Alright. I’ll see you then.”

Aza blew him a kiss, drawing a smile from his partner, and left him to his work. He felt both better and worried as he wandered back through the Congregation, the ache in his body utterly forgotten as he wondered what on earth happened in his absence. Hmmm, maybe he should prepare something nice for him… Aza had been hoping to be pampered, but maybe _Aymeric_ needed it more – and a little talk, maybe, to see what was bothering him.

But – abruptly, he felt an odd shiver go through him the moment the thought crossed his mind, like that of ominous premonition. Strange… hopefully that was just paranoia and not a genuine Echo warning…


	2. Chapter 2

The simple fact was this: Aymeric had no idea what to do with what he just learned.

Aza’s appearance so soon after the fireball Drillemont dropped also didn’t help, because he felt both relieved to see him again – and apprehensive, which made him feel incredibly guilty. Did it truly change anything, to have this bit of extra insight into the mental state of his partner? They already had a system that half-way worked, and, quite frankly, Aymeric wasn’t a chirugeon. Was this even something that should be openly discussed? Would Aza appreciate it? Or would he shy away from him? It already took _so long_ to get Aza to accept help whenever he felt overwhelmed or upset, so to force them to take several leaps backwards was such a painful thought it gave him stomach cramps just imagining it.

He wished he could ask help from someone, but… there wasn’t really anyone. Dragon-Shock was so misunderstood and poorly tolerated that any chirugeon would turn their nose up at the thought of treating anyone with it – not that there was much knowledge on how to, anyways. Normally sufferers were left to their own devices or told to ‘get a grip’, being pushed and pushed and pushed until they inevitably broke the rest of the way through. Aymeric _refused_ to subject Aza to that – and refused to accidentally out his condition and open him up to disdain and ridicule, because he… well, he didn’t know what he’d do, exactly, but he knew it would involve him losing his temper in some way and doing something stupid in his passionate defence of his partner.

Aymeric groaned into his hands, taking advantage of the privacy of his office to just hate everything in his life right now. He didn’t know how to deal with this… what was he meant to do?

A knock on his door instantly drew him out of his selfish pity party and he forced himself to sit upright, rubbing at his face as the door opened and Lucia strode in, looking grim.

“Sir,” she greeted, “Aza just accosted me as I returned from Whitebrim. He feels you need to leave work early due to ‘fatigue’.”

Aymeric forced out a short sigh, “Fatigued is right, but, it’s not something you need to trouble yourself over.”

Lucia looked him over slowly, expression carefully mild but also full of judgement. She didn’t comment on it, though, and instead said; “I discovered a few interesting facts about the… Whitebrim incident, if you wish to hear it, sir.”

Aymeric was half-tempted to tell her to just forget the entire thing. Drillemont had made him want to simultaneously know more and know less – feeling an odd sense of shame at creeping behind Aza’s back, potentially learning something vulnerable and personal about him without his knowledge or permission. But at the same time, the alternative was either forcing it out of Aza or… simply ignoring it. He honestly didn’t know what the right thing to do was.

“…let’s hear it,” Aymeric said, internally bracing himself. Lucia’s expression didn’t comfort him about the next words out of her mouth.

“According to some who were present for the incident, the ‘misunderstanding’ was not a misunderstanding at all,” Lucia said quietly, “Aza is a practitioner of the Dark Arts, and the Temple Knights went to apprehend him for his crimes. They were… halted by another party.”

Aymeric’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. He always knew Aza was involved in some… shady style of magic – it was a little obvious and Aza lacked subtlety – but he always mentally shied away from labelling it as Dark Arts. Though… did it truly matter if he used it? He clearly had enough mental discipline not to allow it to cloud or corrupt his mind, even if it wreaked havoc on his body. The less Aymeric knew, the less he had to think about it, was his personal opinion on the matter.

He determinedly pushed that moral quandary out of his mind to be mulled over at a more appropriate time, “Another party?”

“A man by the name of Fray,” Lucia paused, as if unsure of her next words. “I checked the court records, because the name sounded familiar to me. They were a heretic, a Dark Knight, who invoked Trial by Combat to win their freedom – and lost. They died about a month prior to the Whitebrim incident, their corpse disposed of in the Brume.”

“And yet they were at Whitebrim.”

“The tale becomes strange, sir,” Lucia admitted, “And contradictory. Those I questioned seemed hesitant, or unwilling, to properly remember the incident as it unfolded. I was only told that this ‘Fray’ was present and initiated hostilities against the Temple Knights.”

Lucia paused. She was considering her words, Aymeric realised, and when she next spoke, were tone was careful and precise.

“They also stated that Aza had been… odd, during the confrontation. When I pressed for details, they refused to state anymore.”

Aymeric frowned, mulling over these scant details. A strange tale indeed… and an incomplete one. Why was a man a month long dead wandering about in Whitebrim? Why had he intervened on Aza’s behalf? What was this odd behaviour Aza supposedly exhibited? He was only gaining more questions than answers, and he felt a brief spark of petty annoyance towards Drillemont. The people of Whitebrim were devoted to him, and would no doubt say nothing if he ordered it of them.

“Drillemont must have made them swear to secrecy as well,” Aymeric muttered. It surprised him, though. He would have thought Aza performing Dark Arts would have been a line for the dutiful knight. Whatever happened must have allowed him to make an exception somehow…

“Sir,” Lucia asked when the silence dragged on, “Perhaps you should directly ask Aza about this.”

“Would he even tell me?” Aymeric said a mite bitterly.

“If you’re the one to ask, he might,” Lucia said carefully, “Sir, what little I managed to hear told me that he was not… in a stable mind frame at the time. To allow him to continue hiding it, may enforce a belief that his vulnerability was something he should be ashamed of.”

Aymeric grimaced, unable to deny what Lucia said. She was trained in this, as a spy, to make assessments on people’s actions and mind frames to better manipulate them or ingratiate herself to them. It was something she rarely partook, but her insight was invaluable and, more often than not, accurate-

Wait.

He straightened up, focusing intently on his subordinate, “You think I should speak with him about it?”

“It would be better than sneaking behind his back without his knowledge,” Lucia said bluntly, “He may be a _little_ upset if he hears about it from a second-hand source.”

Aymeric winced, knowing he deserved that reprimand, “Ah, yes…”

“I think Aza is right,” Lucia said suddenly, “Perhaps you do need some time to rest, sir. You appear quite fatigued.”

“Lucia…”

But Lucia was digging in her heels, staring him down with that implacable expression, “I am more than able to tend to your duties for the rest of the day, sir.”

Aymeric stared at her for a moment, debating whether or not he had the willpower to engage in a battle of stubbornness with his subordinate. The answer was… no, he did not. He heaved a sigh, “Very well. I’ll… take the rest of the day off.”

Lucia nodded decisively, “Very good, sir. May you have a productive rest.”

Aymeric bit back a groan at Lucia’s none too subtle prodding and heaved himself out of his chair. He really was tired, having been occupying his abundant amount of free time in the office – both here and at the House of Lords. His home felt far too lonely to stay there without Aza’s presence, and it was now he was feeling the effects of it.

“Send a messenger if any emergencies arise in my absence,” he told Lucia, reluctantly shuffling out of his own office.

“Of course, sir. _Goodbye_.”

Taking the hint, Aymeric stopped dragging his feet and promptly left. He still had the problem of what to do in regards to Aza and the mystery of Whitebrim swirling in his mind, but he put it on the backburner for now. If he forced the confrontation, Aza would get defensive – he could just wait, and see if a natural opening occurred where he could question him or…

He sighed, giving his head a hard shake. He’ll deal with it if it ever came up. For now, Lucia was right. He should rest, get himself in the proper mind frame, and enjoy Aza’s company while he had it. No point making things uncomfortable and awkward to sate his own curiosity or fix something that probably didn’t need to be meddled in.

 

* * *

 

Aymeric returned home to find Aza asleep on the stairs.

He stopped and stared for a moment, taking in how his partner was messily sprawled over the staircase, one boot kicked off and the other with laces half-untied, his head half-pillowed in his arms on a step. He was letting out the cutest, softest snoring noises, his left ear flicking slightly and making his earring jingle gently. Did he just… keel over taking his boots off?

Aymeric drifted over to him quietly, well aware of how light a sleeper Aza was even when flat out exhausted and studied him for a moment. He didn’t notice when Aza visited him in the office, because he seemed quite perky and relaxed, but he really did look tired. Aymeric had been so tied up in his own thoughts he hadn’t even noticed…

He grimaced at himself, feeling guilt wriggle uncomfortably in his gut, and leaned over his partner. He wouldn’t be able to pick him up while he was asleep – he’d startle him and probably get jabbed in the ribs for his trouble – so he reached out and-

 _Boop_.

Booped his nose.

Aza came to with a quiet snort, catching Aymeric’s hand before it could retreat and blinking blearily up at him, “Whossat?”

“I didn’t realise my stairs were so comfortable,” Aymeric murmured, shifting to crouch down and be on a more even level with his drowsy partner, “You were asleep.”

“I was…?” With each blink Aza looked more and more alert, slowly sitting up with stiff, painful winces. He looked at the hand he had captured, before letting it go with a sheepish smile, “Oh, sorry. I must’ve been more tired than I thought.”

Aymeric made an agreeable noise, diverting his attention to the boot Aza was still wearing. He untied the laces the rest of the way and gently tugged it off for him, “I’ll carry you to bed. Don’t worry about moving.”

“I c-ca- _aaaahn…_ ” Aza quickly hid his yawn behind a hand, tears springing up in the corners of his eyes from the force of it, “Mmmnh… can walk up.”

“I _want_ to carry you,” Aymeric amended, neatly stacking Aza’s boots to the left of the stairs and standing back up – and, before his partner could try to wriggle away, bent down and scooped him up into his arms. Aza, thankfully, let him with only a token protest – though, Gods, he swore Aza was getting heavier each time he did this.

“You need to stop putting on more muscle,” Aymeric muttered half-jokingly, starting his careful trek up the stairs. “I won’t be able to pick you up anymore at this rate.”

“You’re just getting old,” Aza laughed at him, tucking his head against Aymeric’s shoulder and flicking his tail to rest more comfortably over his forearm, “And lazy.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” Aymeric said dryly.

“You should do the errands that you send Lucia on,” Aza suggested, “I bumped into her as I left the Congregation, y’know.”

“I know. She told me as she chased me out of my own office to ‘rest’.”

“Good,” Aza said with complete satisfaction, “Well, she told me she just travelled to Whitebrim. That isn’t far, but it would have been a good distance to stretch your legs a little, work your sword arm on those asshole Chinchillas roaming the roadside.”

Aymeric fought to remained relaxed at the mention of Whitebrim, discomforted at the thought of Lucia offering so much information. It was clear she didn’t mention why she went there though, but Aza referencing it made his heart skip a few guilty beats. It uncomfortably reminded him of how he had been ‘sneaking behind his back’, as Lucia phrased it, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with that feeling.

“It would be awkward to visit Whitebrim on personal business,” Aymeric said, reaching the top of the stairs and turning towards their bedroom, “Or anywhere else, really. My position means people would scrutinise where I visited and why.”

“Personal business?” Aza asked curiously, “In Whitebrim?”

Oh, Halone damn him for his stupidity.

“Ah,” Aymeric quickly cast his mind about for an excuse – but he could never really blatantly _lie_ to Aza, so he said, a little awkwardly, “I’m just… chasing up old reports that were submitted during the Theocracy. A few of them were rife with corruption and the like.”

“I see,” Aza didn’t sound nervous or apprehensive. Either he was content Aymeric wouldn’t find out about _his_ incident or, more likely, he had no idea there was even a report about it. Aza consistently showed a lack of understanding of how governments and organisations actually functioned, and probably took Drillemont’s vow of silence as confirmation that it wouldn’t be recorded at all, “And one of these involved Drillemont, then?”

Aymeric almost startled, tensing up despite himself. How did he…? “What?”

“Well, I saw him outside of the Congregation when I came back,” Aza said reasonably, his gaze far too shrewd as he watched his reactions with open interest, “And _he_ said he had business to attend to here, since I asked him what he was doing there.”

“Drillemont… answered questions on a report, yes,” Aymeric said very carefully, quickly becoming discomforted with the conversation.

Aza clearly noticed, because his gaze became scrutinising and sharp, “Aymeric, are you-”

“Here we are,” he said quickly, cutting off whatever Aza was about to say. His bedroom door was thankfully open, so he didn’t have to juggle his armful of Miqo’te to use the door handle, “Now, do you want to bathe before going to sleep or not?”

Aza frowned, not answering for a few tense heartbeats – but thankfully dropped the subject, “We can take a bath together if you want.”

Relaxing now that they had successfully steered out of dangerous waters, he carefully set Aza down on the edge of their bed. His partner was still looking at him thoughtfully, like there was a puzzle that needed to be cracked – but he kept whatever questions he had to himself. They both shared the trait of becoming stubborn and close-mouthed about subjects they didn’t wish to discuss, so Aymeric knew Aza was going to wait him out. For someone so hot-blooded and impulsive, he could be terrifyingly patient when he wanted to be.

And it wasn’t as if Aymeric was going to keep this to himself and take it to his grave. He just needed to… process it for a bit.

“Try not to doze off,” Aymeric murmured, “I’ll run the bath.”

“Hmm? You sure?” Aza asked, already unclasping the buckles of his breastplate, “I can do it once I take this off.”

“You’re moving like an old man,” Aymeric said teasingly, “I’d feel bad if I made you walk to the bathroom.”

As expected Aza huffed at him, looking irritated at the jab, “I’m just _stiff_ , not an invalid.”

“Mmhm,” Aymeric hummed indulgently, already moving off towards the bathroom, “Of course you are.”

Aza grumbled something under his breath as he left the bedroom, and he smiled to himself. For someone who teased _him_ about becoming old, Aza was so prickly about his own age. Or, more like his age finally catching up to him. Aza seemed to forget he wasn’t a spy young Miqo’te at the peak of their youth – Aymeric had witnessed more than a few mornings where Aza had to all but heave his aching bones out of bed with all the stiffness of someone twice his age.

Granted, that was probably the abuse he forced his body through. Healing magic and potions could only do so much for the body, and potions were notorious for leaving behind heavy scarring – internally and externally. He sighed, shaking those thoughts out of mind. He was already depressingly aware of how wrecked Aza’s body was.

Running the bath was a good distraction, honestly. He chose one of the milder soaps, knowing that the usual Ishgardian scents were a bit too powerful for Aza’s tastes, and spent a good five minutes fiddling with the temperature until he edged it to the exact heat of Aza’s liking. But it didn’t take all that long to do, and once he was happy with the bathwater, he ambled back to his room, rubbing the back of his stiff neck as he did so.

Unsurprisingly, he came back to Aza curled up, dozing and naked, on the bed.

“Aza…” he sighed but didn’t immediately wake him. He took the time to quickly divest himself of his own clothing – and picked up Aza’s that he had just carelessly dropped on the floor next to the bed, honestly, Aymeric kept telling him not to do that. Once he was ready, he moved over to the bed, watching his partner sleep for a moment.

He looked peaceful – a nice thing. Aza’s sleep was usually fitful or uncomfortable, and while he didn’t regularly have night terrors, he had them often enough to make his sleeping schedule rather erratic and poor. He was probably too exhausted to dream ill dreams this time.

Aymeric was loathed to wake him up, but… his gaze travelled over his partner’s body, taking in the streaks of dirt, bruising and smears of dried blood that had obviously been wiped at with a cloth, but not properly cleaned up. At least he looked as if he’d visited a chirugeon before coming back to Ishgard this time. Aymeric remembered yelling himself hoarse when Aza had dragged himself, half-beaten and bleeding, from some adventure or other without getting looked at.

He reached down and gently tugged his partner’s tail, smiling when Aza stirred with a groggy mumble, blinking up at him sleepily, “Aza~” he half-sang, voice lilting teasingly, “I told you not to doze off.”

“Wasn’,” Aza grumbled, “Restin’ m’eyes.”

“Mmhm,” Aymeric scooped Aza up in his arms again – easier now that he wasn’t weighed down in his armour – and started towards the bath. He was resigned to the fact that Aza would most likely doze off halfway through, but he was just happy he was having pleasant dreams for once. “Come on, a quick bath and you can sleep for as long as you want.”

Aza’s reply was a rather cute yawn, nuzzling into his shoulder with that low, churring noise he discovered Miqo’te made when happily contented. Aymeric felt something in him relax at the noise, comforted that, whatever issues his partner may have, at least he had moments like these where his happiness was simple and uncomplicated.

…

Maybe he should just keep the whole Whitebrim thing to himself, for now. There was no point disrupting one of the rare days of Aza being utterly relaxed and happy to sate his own curiosity and concern.

( _You’re just procrastinating_ , his conscience muttered to him, but Aymeric stubbornly ignored it)

Later. He’ll talk to him _later_. He just… hadn’t decided when that would be yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split the chapter up because it would be too long and also the actual talk is gonna take a whiiiile to hash out lol 
> 
> Please comment/kudos if you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: MINOR SELF-HARM NEAR THE END

Aymeric was acting a little strange.

It niggled at Aza, even as drowsy as he was, and he found himself unable to fully relax in the pleasantly warm bath they were both lounging in. Aymeric was leaning against the back of the bath, Aza settled between his legs and resting against his chest, his partner idly letting his hand trail, up and down, along his thigh. Normally, Aymeric would try to be a little cheeky or frisky, but he was curiously quiet.

He did say he was tired, and Aza was too exhausted for anything either, but, something _niggled_. It was in his gut, an instinctual understanding that something was bothering Aymeric deeply. He felt a bit put out at being blocked off from knowing what it was, but Aymeric could be stubbornly secretive when he felt pressured – karmic justice when Aza did the same to him, honestly – so all he could do was wait… and try to catch him out.

“You’re quiet,” Aza mumbled, and he felt Aymeric shift against him slightly.

“Mm, am I? I thought you were asleep,” Aymeric replied, his voice quiet as his hand stilled on his thigh, his thumb rubbing a small, lazy circle on the inner part. It distracted Aza briefly, “I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Hrrm…” Aza hummed doubtfully, “Says the man who once dry-humped me when I was sleeping-”

“That- _I_ was asleep!” Aymeric immediately protested, sounding delightfully embarrassed – he always did whenever Aza brought it up. Honestly, he found the entire thing utterly hilarious, and hadn’t been bothered at all at Aymeric dry-humping him during a particularly vivid wet-dream, “And I apologised for that…”

Aza sniggered, stretching his leg out until his toes poked out of the water. He gave them a few wriggles, “Just saying, me being sleepy normally doesn’t put a dampener on your lustiness, handsome.”

Aymeric sighed, “Well, _I’m_ tired.”

“Mhm,” Aza lowered his leg, relaxing again. Aymeric’s hand started lazily stroking along his thigh again, “And stressed, from the sounds of it. Were you overworking again?”

“Hmmm, ah, perhaps a little,” Aymeric admitted with a little bit of shame, “Just a tad.”

“I can ask Lucia later, y’know,” Aza told him casually.

“…quite a bit,” Aymeric amended, because he knew Lucia was loyal to the point where she _would_ rat him out to Aza to ensure he took better care of himself. While she could only occasionally chase him out of the office as his subordinate, Aza had more leeway to simply kidnap him from work with no one making a comment about it – or daring to, in any case.

Aza made a pleased noise at his honesty and shifted around until he was facing his partner. Aymeric accommodated him, leaning back as Aza sat on his thighs with his hands resting on his shoulders. It gave him a good view of Aymeric’s tired face, and he examined him closely for a moment, as if he could just figure it out by looking at him.

“Is that Lord What’shisface being uppity with you again?” Aza finally asked, “Because my offer to kick him down the stairs is still open.”

Aymeric’s expression flattened, “You can’t kick my political opponents down the stairs, Aza, you know this.”

“I wouldn’t get caught,” Aza grumbled, “But fine, okay. _Is_ he bothering you, though?”

“No one’s bothering me.”

“Hm, are people being quarrelsome for the sake of being quarrelsome in the House of Lords again?”

“When are they not?” Aymeric muttered under his breath.

Aza flicked an ear, accepting that reasonable reply, “Then, are you getting unwanted advances from lusty young dames again?”

“Aza,” Aymeric sighed irritably, “No. I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong.”

Realising he was pressing too hard, Aza reluctantly backed off, “You really are tired. You’re grumpy.”

Aymeric sighed, glancing away. Aza scooted a little closer, making a low, apologetic noise, and nuzzled along his jawline. The subtle tension he felt built up in Aymeric’s body eased a fraction, his partner’s hands lightly trailing over the curve of his hips. Good thing about Aymeric was, when Aza _did_ manage to annoy him, it was so very easy to smooth down his ruffled feathers. Aymeric was always a bit weak to a good ol’ bit of affectionate fussing.

“I’m sorry,” Aymeric finally said, turning his head so that their lips met in a very brief, but sweet kiss. When they parted, he rested his forehead against Aza’s, his eyes closed, “You’re right, I’m in a bad mood today.”

Aza closed his eyes too, savouring the warm contact between them. Even if Aymeric got grumpy, at least he never withheld affection during his moods. He waited a little bit before reluctantly pulling away, nudging his nose against his jaw to make him tilt his head back a little. Aymeric did so, letting out a quiet little noise when Aza scraped his teeth over his exposed throat, gently, just enough to make his toes curl.

“Tell me why…?” Aza murmured into his skin, and he could _feel_ Aymeric waver, so he added, “Please?”

Aymeric was quiet for a long moment, but Aza was patient. A good predator always was. So, he lazily entertained himself with Aymeric’s throat, teasing the pulse-point, following his throat down, to the collarbone, before trailing back up, leaving a few pleasing red-marks that would blossom into lovely bruising later. Aymeric would make soft, little noises, right in the back of his throat, so obviously pleased, and Aza began to purr, slowly forgetting he was trying to seduce a secret out of him, when-

“There was… a report that’s been bothering me…” Aymeric finally mumbled, his voice delightfully breathless, “I’ve been chasing it up.”

“Mm, s’at so?” Aza purred, encouraging him with a sharp, little nip. Aymeric drew in a short breath, “And…?”

Aymeric hesitated, his fingers clenching into Aza’s hips slightly. He felt tense, and Aza eased up, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as he patiently waited. If Aymeric clammed up after this, Aza would have to resign himself to waiting for him to tell him later – or not at all – and for a moment he genuinely believed Aymeric _was_ going to clam up. Then;

“It was an incident in Whitebrim about a year ago,” Aymeric finally said. He stopped there though.

Reluctantly, Aza leaned away, his thumb rubbing over his partner’s collarbone as he tried to decipher the unreadable expression on Aymeric’s face. He wasn’t looking at him, instead he seemed rather fascinated with Aza’s chest, his eyelashes lowered and mouth set into an unhappy line. He still felt tense – and hesitant.

“…what happened in this incident?” Aza asked when the quiet dragged on a bit too long, feeling something like nerves beginning to wriggle in his stomach. A suspicion started to bloom in him. An incident in Whitebrim, a year ago, and that required Drillemont to be questioned… could he… _know_ …?

“You can tell me that,” Aymeric finally said, lifting his gaze to give him a searching look, “You were involved in it.”

Shit. He _knew_.

Aza went still, managing to just about keep his expression entirely blank from the sudden surge of panic that swept through him. He very carefully did not think, did not impulsively react, forcing his body to relax into something less tense than ‘abruptly petrified’. Aymeric was watching him carefully, clearly cataloguing every reaction he made, but he didn’t – he didn’t seem repulsed or anything, like Aza feared. He just seemed tired.

“I…” he bit his bottom lip nervously, his gaze flickering from side to side as if searching for an escape route. There was one – Aymeric had relaxed his grip on his hips, was leaning back, offering Aza a clear way to extract himself physically from the situation. But what would that help? If Aymeric knew – perhaps not everything, but _enough_ – then Aza running away would… what? Delay the inevitable? Would Aymeric just not mention it ever again, like the ‘I Murdered Your Dad Before You Got Closure Oops Sorry’ thing they tiptoed around and pretended didn’t exist?

“Aza,” Aymeric’s tone was gentle, like he was speaking to a cornered animal, “What happened in Whitebrim? I have gotten nothing but confused stories and vague implications, which leaves me to conclude things by myself.”

Yeah, Aza could imagine the stories about _that_ event. Gods, no wonder Aymeric seemed so distracted and worried. He took a deep breath to calm the rapid pace of his heart, dropping his gaze to dead centre of Aymeric’s chest. There was a very thin, precise scar running down dead centre of his sternum. A souvenir from The Vault. Aza touched it with his fingertips, distracting himself by following its sharp path.

“What do you know?” he asked, his voice sounding flat to his ears. Aymeric rubbed his thumbs over his hipbones in a soothing motion.

“That Drillemont is frustratingly devoted to his vow of silences,” Aymeric said lightly, then, more seriously, “That you were involved in a fight with the Temple Knights, over some form of ‘misunderstanding’, and that…” Here, he paused, clearly hesitating, before murmuring, “That you are a practitioner of the dark arts.”

Aza winced, “I- It’s not like what the stories say of it-”

“I know,” Aymeric said, “I’ve always assumed you used something like it in battle. You’re hardly subtle, Aza, with abilities called ‘Living Dead’ and ‘Salted Earth’. Honestly.”

Well, when he said it like _that_ … “Then, you’re not…?”

“I’m not concerned about that,” Aymeric confirmed, but he still seemed troubled, “I’m concerned… everyone seems to imply you were… not in a good mental state at the time.”

Aza barely held back a bitter laugh, because, _fuck_ , that was an understatement, “No, I wasn’t.”

He didn’t elaborate. Aymeric watched him. The silence between them became a little tense.

“Drillemont told me,” Aymeric continued in a quieter, softer tone, “That you’re not mentally well.”

“Is Drillemont a chirugeon now? An expert on mental health?” Aza asked derisively, instantly feeling defensive. He was _fine_ now. Mentally – no, okay, he was _kind of_ fucked up, but he didn’t want Aymeric to start treating him like he was going to fall apart because his mind was a traitorous piece of shit. They had a system. Aymeric knew enough. Aza _managed_ well enough. “I’m functional. That’s all that should matter.”

Aymeric looked away. He was upset, but at him or at the situation, he couldn’t tell. Aza could just feel his pulse pick up, feeling panicky and pressured even though Aymeric wasn’t really doing – _anything_ , really. He wanted to know what he was thinking. He couldn’t tell. Aymeric was annoyingly blank-faced.

“I can pick up my blade and march into battle and win without anything happening,” Aza continued, determined to make Aymeric understand that at least. “That’s all I need to do.”

“While you suffer from night terrors, irrational anxiety and paranoia,” Aymeric returned, not softening his words in the slightest, “Alcoholism too, though you’ve managed that a bit better now, at least.”

“I don’t-” Aza bit back his initial protest because, well, he couldn’t _deny_ the night terrors thing, but, “It’s not irrational.”

“You won’t accept drinks unless they’ve been taste-tested first or come from a sealed bottle,” Aymeric said, “You refuse to go anywhere without a breastplate at the very least. You always have your weapon within arms reach in _bed_. You show a _shocking_ lack of self-preservation when fighting. You _medicate_ yourself when feeling emotionally overwhelm-”

“That’s- that’s normal!” Aza protested, though he wasn’t sure now. “You never said anything about it before!”

“Because I was willingly ignoring it,” Aymeric said miserably, “I didn’t want to _believe_ you were…”

“What?” Aza snapped when Aymeric trailed off, aware he was beginning to sound strained, “Crazy? Fucked up?”

“ _No_ ,” Aymeric finally looked at him, “You’re not crazy.”

“I really am,” Aza told him. He could feel his hands shake a little. He curled them into fists and pressed them into the top of his thighs, feeling his knuckles dig in. “I really really am.”

Aymeric watched him carefully, his expression openly concerned, “Aza, you-”

“You want to know what happened in Whitebrim?” Aza spoke over him, abruptly angry and seething, “Okay, I’ll tell you. I had a mental breakdown so severe I almost killed a group of Temple Knights because I have a _fucked up_ split personality problem going on. They’re called Fray, by the way, in case you ever meet.”

Aymeric didn’t reply.

So Aza continued, feeling a kind of twisted but awful and vicious sort of satisfaction at Aymeric’s blank expression, “The whole camp got involved, Drillemont helped me beat some sense into, well, myself, because when I go crazy, I go all _fucking out_ , and he decided I was such a _pathetic_ wreck of a man that he’d kindly keep it quiet. So. _That’s_ what _happened_ in _Whitebrim_.”

“…”

In the silence that followed, all Aza could hear was his own short, sharp breaths, his pulse loud in his ears as he tried to keep himself – contained. Aymeric was expressionless, and Aza couldn’t stand to look him in the eyes anyway. He abruptly felt ashamed, pathetic, and he desperately wished to take back his words. Drillemont had been… kind, to keep his loss of control a secret, and it had become the one thing he didn’t want Aymeric to really learn about. He just blurted it out everywhere. Stupid. He can put that on top of everything else.

Aymeric already saw him at his worst, but Aza knew what effect it had on him. He had his own shit to deal with, and Aza piling his own issues on him, more and more, that was… people had a limit, didn’t they? Aymeric might have a limit. Aza just didn’t want to risk coming anywhere _near_ that line, didn’t want to entertain the thought that one day, Aymeric might realise what a _fucked-up mess_ he was and drop him. He wouldn’t even blame him, even if it shattered his heart into pieces.

But he told him. It was all there now. ‘Not crazy’, _well_! He was going to change that assessment quick enough. Unwell, yeah, that was right too. He hated it – he _hated it_ , that people lauded his strength, but he was so very weak. Aymeric suffered, got fucking _tortured_ for fuck’s sake, but _he_ didn’t find himself barely keeping himself together by his fingertips. He was mentally strong, resilient, just- took his tragedy and owned it, and-

Aymeric gently rested his hands over Aza’s, and it took him a few stunned seconds to realise his whole body was shaking, not just his hands.

“Aza,” Aymeric murmured, soft and gentle and low, “You’re not pathetic.”

“I am,” he croaked, an awful lump wedged right in his throat, “I can barely- barely…”

“You’re not,” Aymeric said more firmly, “And if I hear anyone say otherwise, I will fight them.”

The sheer absurdity of that statement startled a hiccupping laugh out of him, which he supposed was Aymeric’s intent since he smiled at him – tiredly and sadly, but still, a smile.

“I shouldn’t have pressed it,” Aymeric continued, “But Drillemont told me that… that I was blinded by my ideal of you, that I was causing you harm by blithely believing you to be fine, when clearly you were suffering. I couldn’t stand the thought that I was hurting you like that, but neither did I want to upset you over something that happened so long ago.”

“S’okay,” Aza forced out, clenching his muscles and forcing them to stop their shaking from sheer force of will. It almost hurt, but he ignored it, hating how his breaths caught in his throat, making them audibly stutter. His traitorous body. He hated it. “I shouldn’t have… have hid it from you.”

“You’re not obligated to tell me everything,” Aymeric pointed out, “But, I’d like to think that you can come to me about anything, Aza. I won’t judge you. I’ll love you no matter how… ‘crazy’ you think you’re being. Do you understand that?”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Aza said quietly, flexing his fingers beneath Aymeric’s, digging his nails right into his thighs. “I want to stop talking about it.”

“Okay,” Aymeric said, giving Aza’s hands a gentle squeeze before pointedly pulling them away from his thighs. Stark, red lines were already scratched into the skin, but Aymeric didn’t say anything, even as his concerned gaze flickered over them, “We won’t talk about it for now.”

Aza didn’t move, waiting to see if Aymeric would follow it up with anything else, but his partner just gently held his hands, looking at him with an expression both earnest and sad. He really did… he wasn’t repulsed. He didn’t look annoyed or exasperated at Aza once again, failing to keep it together. He didn’t deserve this man, not really. That lump in his throat almost hurt, and he ducked his head slightly to try and hide the stinging in his eyes.

When will you get tired of me, he wanted to ask, but was too much of a coward to.

“I think we should try to go to bed,” Aymeric said quietly, “See how we feel in the morning.”

Yes, Aza kind of wanted to smother himself with a pillow right now to try and pretend these last five minutes didn’t happen. He took in a deep, bracing breath, and nodded, lifting his head once he was certain his eyes were dry, “Okay,” he croaked.

The next few minutes passed by in a daze – he felt wrung out, tense and jittery, and he barely remembered getting into bed. A part of him knew this wasn’t the end of it. Aymeric said ‘for now’, and his partner was notoriously stubborn and dogged. He was going to try and help him, even if he had no idea how, and Aza was going to be forced to try and look at that dark, seething mess he just shoved down and let Fray deal with. He was going to have to accept that pathetic part of himself, eventually.

He just… didn’t have the mental fortitude for it right now. Thankfully, Aymeric seemed to agree to that. He really didn’t deserve him.

“I love you,” Aymeric murmured to him, once they were comfortable – he allowed him physical space, because Aza- he needed, space, right now -  though he kept a death grip on his hand, clasped between them on the bed, because he needed that too, just to be contrary. “Please remember that.”

“Okay,” Aza murmured back, his tail tucked right between his legs and his knees close to his chest, trying to smother that tight, twisting feeling behind his breastbone, “I’ll remember.”

Aymeric still hadn’t commented on what he had told him – about Fray, or fighting Temple Knights, or anything, but Aza found he didn’t want to know what he thought for once. Later, maybe, when the ugly shock of it worn off, but now…

No. Aymeric was still here. Hadn’t rejected him. Wasn’t repulsed by his stupid weakness. Let him process that first, before weathering anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took so long to upload this chapter bc of this fucking internet. pls. stop. CLOSING THE CONNECTION WHEN I'M TRYING TO SEND DATAAAAAAA
> 
> also yes aza felt like being difficult. this is something i think will need to be talked about little by little, until he becomes comfortable enough to discuss it in earnest with aym. it'll be a long road, but at least aym knows about it now...

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooooooooooooo yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah it's finally happening. Aymeric finally starts finding out what happened in the lvl 50 drk quest and the true depths to how seriously fucked up Aza is. A lot of what he's gonna learn is from Aza himself, which will be the next chapter and it's gonna be heeeeeeeeavy on angst but also good communication so it'll all work out fine!
> 
> I also haven't slept in... almost... 24 hours so if this fic is kinda incoherent inplaces I AM SORRY. 
> 
> Please kudos/comment if you enjoyed!


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